


Medic

by VarricTitsrass



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Decepticon Ratchet, I kick decepticon bad autobot good to the curb, War isnt black and white, a polite ratchet is a dead ratchet, idk what this is tbh, ratchet's bedside manner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 13:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18209084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VarricTitsrass/pseuds/VarricTitsrass
Summary: Ratchet meets First- Aid and things have to change.ORRatchet has been operating under decepticon command for vorns now. His reasons are his own and he'd thank you to mind your own damn business.First-Aid finds his mentor under very different circumstances.





	Medic

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rlly old wip. Finally got it to a length I was happy with. If the writing style feels like it's changed drastically thats probs because it has lmao.

Ratchet’s optics onlined to the sound of biting laughter. He resisted the urge to simply offline them again and return to the blissful quiet of recharge, but he was awake now, and the noise outside wasn’t going to go away anytime soon. Ex-venting deeply he rose to his pedes; now that he was properly onlined he recognised the field signatures of Bulkhead and Barricade. He briefly wondered what poor soul had managed to garner the two frontliners attention so early in the morning before, and with the slightest hesitation, headed to the rec room. 

  


Bickering amoungst recruits was an almost constant presence on and off base, with soldiers testing each other and trying to gain favor with the higher ups by demonstrating the ruthlessness and ability to survive that a Decepticon soldier required. More frequently Ratchet found himself tending to soldiers who had been hurt by fellow Decepticons rather than Autobots; to the point where he’d started to refuse healing superficial damage or any damage that wasn’t life threatening. They simply didn't have the resources for it anymore.

  


The Autobots were slowly closing in on Kaon's decepticon prescence, it wouldnt be long until they had a comfortable foothold to completely take control of the capital. Kaon was Cybertrons main industrial city state, if the Autobots reclaimed it they would be strangled for supplies even more so than they already were. 

  


There were already whispers of Command implementing rations. 

  


On his way to the rec room he dodged around a swearing Warhead and snapped at one of the symbiotes that had gotten underfoot, ignoring its biting response.

  


The rec room was pleasantly empty when he arrived. Hook occupied one corner and a few other mechs he didn't know well enough to name were dotted about. With most of the rowdier mechs either off base of completing some task somewhere the room was unnaturally quiet. It was empty of the usual inane chatter and posturing. There was no screech of armour plating on armour plating and none of the dulcet tones accompanied by petulant seekers. It was about as peaceful as life on their small safehouse ever was and Ratchet fully intended to enjoy it.

  


Unfortunately it seemed like Primus was against him in that intention.  He received his rations and retired to a corner. He’d barely taken a sip when a shadow fell over him, blocking the light from the shoddy lamp in the center of the room. He huffed. 

  


“Wha' do ya want Hook?”

  


“Friendly as always, Hatchet.” The combiner ignored his glower and sat opposite him. Ratchet sipped at his energon as the combaticon pulled out his data pad and made himself comfortable. 

  


“Hurry up and say what ya want or frag off.” 

  


Hook's lights flashed, amused and he placed down his data pad, making sure to take long enough that he know Ratchet would begin to lose patience.

  


“I thought you might be interested in a prisoner we picked up early this morning.”

  


“That what put that slagger Barricade in such a good mood?” Ratchet responded wearily. 

  


His suspicions were confirmed when a small smirk took up place on the smaller mechs faceplates. “Oh yes. It isn’t very often we get to play with ‘Bots that have not bite. Poor little thing was terrified.”

  


Ratchets tanks churned in distaste. “Ya know ah have no interest in whatever scrap the frontliners bring in Hook, what’s your point?” He took another pointed sip of energon, placing the now empty cube down. 

  


Hook’s smirk grew and so did Ratchets discomfort. “Why, I do believe this mech is one you  _ will _ be interested. I must be quite a long time now since you’ve seen another medic.” 

  


He can't quite hide the alarms flash of his lights and snarls at the triumphant grin on Hooks faceplates. “What use is a medic to those two butchers?” 

  


"Bored with the constant patrols I believe. The Autobot simply came along at the wrong time.”

  


Gritting his denta, Ratchet wondered just how bad the Autobot medic's luck was to be caught during one of Barricade’s patrol's and  tried not to think about what had become of the scouts the field-medic would have been accompanying. Instead, he stood and cleared his engeron cube from the table.

  


“Oh Hatchet? You now those two don't like the have their toys taken away from them.”

  


“The two of ‘em can shove an exhaust pipe up their afts for all I care?”

  


He resolutely ignored the chuckle Hook released and stormed from the room.

  


-

  


It wasn't hard to find the two frontliners.   The hole - for it was more of a hole that a room in actuality - was crudely named the Scrap Room as it was where most fights took place. It was small and contained, there were no windows and no furniture at all to speak of. It was also a popular place for smacking around prisoners. Ratchet avoided it as best he could, the room - and what it implied - made him sick to his energon tanks. 

  


He stepped into the room purposefully. Bulkhead look up sharply, tensing when he recognised the medic.

  


“Ratchet. What do you want?” Ratchet ignored the question, studying the panting Autobot on the floor.  Evidently Ratchet had interrupted before the two of them could properly get to work. The young medic’s plating was scratched and dented in places, and one of the glass panels on his chassis was shattered, but it was all superficial damage. 

  


Ratchet tilted his head to the side, watching Barricade’s armor plating tighter around his frame defensively at Ratchets increased attention. Medic he may be, but all the decepticons on base - Hook notwithstanding - knew better than to piss him off.

  


“You like beating the slag out of mechs who can’t fight back?” He spoke casually, as if speaking with friends over energon cookies. Barricade and Bulkhead both shifted warily. 

  


“What's it to you  _ Hatchet? _ ” Ratchet didn't respond openly but Bulkhead shot a look at Barricade that said he thought the bigger mech’s processor had shut down. 

  


“You’re being too slagging loud. If you want to beat on something go pick a fight with the seekers. With any luck you’ll put each other in stasis.”

  


Whilst Bulkhead looked ready to bolt, Barricade stepped forward menacingly. “It’s none of your business what we do with our find, Hatchet. He’s ours to beat the slag out of if with fragging want.” 

  


Ratchet didn't back down, stepping forward so the two of them were barely an servos width away. He tilted his head up and met Barricades eyes directly. 

  


“I was under the impression you were meant to report to the medbay so I can fix up prisoners for interrogation,  _ Barricade.  _ You think Stonecrusher will be happy to hear you’re breaking regulation for your own entertainment? Maybe I should com him and find out, hmm? What do ya think?” Despite the uncertain glint in his optics Barricade didn't look ready to back down. Seeing this Ratchet made a show of touching his helm, implying the start of a comm call. Bulkhead hissed and grabbed Barricade by the arm, pulling.

  


“Some useless Autoscum medic ain’t worth a slagging from the Commander, ‘Cade! Come on!” With a snarl Barricade shoved Bulkhead aside and stepped out of the room. Pausing to lean forward into  Ratchets space, he snarled.

  


“One day you are gonna get what’s coming to you, you Bot sympathising slag heap. And I can’t  _ wait! _ ”  

  


Ratchet didn't allow his armour plating to relax from its defensive position until long after the echo of angry footsteps had dissipated.  He turned to look at the injured medic with a heavy sigh. The Autobot was watching him silently, clearly frightened and doing his best to not garner any attention. He seemed inexperienced and Ratchet wondered if this had been his first field assignment. One hell of a way to start off. He crossed his arms across his chassis and ordered the mech to stand up. The young mech did so with a hesitation that came from pain rather than disobedience and kept his light blue optics on the floor. Ratchet watched his armour plating shudder for a click before turning and making his way to the med bay.

  


“Follow me. You get lost and you’ll end up with some more of our fine frontliners.” There was a slightly choked exvent from behind him and the sound of hurried pedes against the solid metal floor. 

  


-

  


Hook was already in the medbay when they arrived along with Mixmaster and Scrapper. Ratchet grimaced when Hooks optics glowed at the sight of them.  “Ah’ve told you before not to play with my stuff.” He spoke flatly, not expecting an apology and not getting one. This wasn't the first time he’d found the Constructicons in his Med Bay and it wouldn't be the last. Ratchet was glad Scrapper was there at least - as the most level headed of the brothers he would at least be able to keep the more unruly Hook and Mixmaster under some control. 

  


“Ratchet. Good orn.” Scrapper spoke, interrupting Hook before he could say anything antagonistic.

  


“Scrapper.” He eyed Hook before shoo’ing Mixmaster away from the medi-berth. Mixmaster was mostly harmless if left alone, he was dangerously intelligent when it came to his concoctions but had very little interest in anything else. He and Hook were a dangerous combination however, so Ratchet once again thanked Primus for Scrapper’s presence. Said mech watched curiously as Ratchet magnetised the Autobot to the berth. He wasn't used to so little fight, but then, he wasn't used to seeing medics as prisoner.

  


“What use do we have for a medic? He will have no information of any use, especially if he is simply a field medic.” Ratchet shrugged at Scrappers enquiry, gently inserting a locking chip into the captive medic. He waited for the mech 's sensory net to offline before he started knocking out the various dents. 

  


“Ask Barricade and Bulkhead.”  Hook laughed quietly. 

  


“Am I to expect the two of them at my door later in the Orn, Hatchet?” Scrapper shot his brother a warning look, subtly stepping between Ratchet and the current source of his ire.

  


“They have made a habit of bringing in scraps we don't need. Stonecrusher will be displeased.” 

  


Ratchet raised an optic bridge as he buffed out another small dent. “You gonna tell ‘im?” 

  


“He doubtless already knows. Spynet has been skulking around.” Ratchet’s faceplates twisted in distaste. Spynet was not on the level of Soundwave and his Symbiotes - thank Primus for small mercies- but he was very good at destroying any privacy to be had on base. It didn't help that the mech was a primus-damned gossip; Ratchet knew more about who was ‘facing who than he ever needed to. 

  


“I thought the slagger was off base.”

  


“He returned this morning.” 

  


Ratchet swore, stepping aside as Mixmaster spilled whatever concoction he was working on over the surface of the desk, absentmindedly slapping the combiner up the side of his helm.  Whatever reply he had in mind was cut short when the door to the medbay slid open. Gritting his denta, Ratchet span round with his arms crossed against his chassis. He raised an eyebrow ridge. 

  


“Another one?”

  


“A Saboteur. We think. Came in after the medic. He’s got a fancy little trick we want you to look in to”. Ratchet huffed. Brawn was head of T&I. He was a mech that managed to get under Ratchets armour plating almost as frequently as Hook and that was saying something,

  


“I’m a  _ medic _ . You want someone to look into some fancy upgrade ask Hook.”

  


“You seem to think I care. Hook is needed elsewhere.” Brawn stepped forward in a way that was probably meant to be threatening, Ratchet rolled his optics. 

  


“I have my servos full. Unless  _ Stonecrusher _ asks, my job is to heal them. Not pick them apart. Find some other mech to do your bidding ‘cause it sure as slag aint gonna be me.” 

  


Brawls optics darkened but he made no room towards Ratchet, simply throwing the Autobot to the floor and turning on his heel. “You need to learn your place, Hatchet” 

  


“I  _ know _ my place. It aint under you. Get out of my Medbay.”  If the door slams a little harder than usual on the big mechs way out Ratchet doesn't mention in. Rolling his shoulders he hefts the other mech onto a spare medi-berth. Scrapper watches quietly as Ratchet begins working on the green Autobot. 

  


“You’re going to get yourself killed one of these days Ratchet.” 

  


Ratchet magnetizes the Autobot to the berth, he’s in far worse shape than his Medic companion and its clear he’s already been at T&I’s tender mercies. He taps absentmindedly at the berth as he considers his next step and glances down at Decepticon. 

  


“That sounds an awful lot like concern there Scrapper, careful.”

  


Hook sneers disdainfully but Scrapper just shrugs. “You’re the only mech on this Primus forsaken base that can hold an intelligent conversation. “ 

  


Ratchet can’t quite deny the small smirk on his faceplate. “Not hard mech.  What are your other options?  _ Barricade?” _

  


Scrapper grimaces. “Indeed.” He gathers his supplies and gestures for his brothers to move. “Comm. me if you need backup.”

  


He snorts. “Mech, these bots are doing any harm anytime soon.” 

  


Scrapper eyes them. “True enough.”

  


Ratchet let his plating relax as he was finally left in silence. The sounds of the machinery in the room interrupted every now and then by the struggled venting of the Autobot saboteur.  The Autobot medic on the other hand was silent. 

  


Ratchet turned to the smaller mech to find him watching him closely. Ratchet Ex-vented and stepped towards the medi-berth, scanning the medic in case he’d missed any internal injuries. He hadn't. Satisfied he turned towards his tool chest. 

  


Time to put the other Autobot back together. 

  


-

  


“Report.”

  


“Chassis plating torn almost beyond repair, processor fragged but fixable. Lower pede joints twisted out of place, Upper pede joints dislocated. Face plates-”

  


Stone-crusher waves as servo and Ratchet falls silent, denta snapping shut. “How long will it take to bring him back to full health.” 

  


“Several orns. Gonna need to get a hold of some materials from off base.” 

  


“For medical or aesthetical reasons. We can't’ afford to have our best medic off base. Too dangerous.”

  


Ratchet bites back the retort of ‘ _ only medic’ _ and crosses his arms over his chassis. “Both. You wanna avoid the full ire of the Autobot Saboteur Commander you’re gonna want it to look less like you let his subordinate get beaten to slag.” 

  


He watches Stone-Crusher’s servo’s twitch. “I don’t like your  _ tone _ , Ratchet.” But he doesn't disagree. Ratchet decides to take this as a win, even though it’s probably the threat of the Autobot Jazz over Rathet’s sound reasoning that has convinced his commander to back down.

  


Jazz is known to be unpredictable even to his own faction. Not even Stone-crusher is willing to risk the ire of such an ornery mech by making it clear just how badly his saboteur has been treated during his brief stay on base.  

  


“Gnasher and Roadchaser will accompany off base.”  Ratchet bites back a scowl. 

  


“Alright.” He turns to go, plating tense, Stonecrusher scratches the tips of his servos over his desk.

  


“The medic?” 

  


“What about ‘im? He managed to avoid T&I, aint nothin’ ta be said.”

  


“And Barricade, with a little help. Or so I’ve heard.”

  


“Didn’t wanna waste my fraggin’ time fixin’ some mech tha’ didn’ need ta be fixed.” He bites back a scathing remark about his Commander’s ability to control the mech under his command. He's not suicidal.

  


“I wonder how you came to the conclusion that it was  _ your _ time to be wasted? Don’t intervene on an Autobots behalf again, medic. I might begin to question where your loyalties lie.”

  


Well. He knows a dismissal when he hears one. The door slides shut behind him and Ratchet doesn’t stop until his is safely in his quarters. 

  


Frag. He drops onto his berth, energy drained in an instant now that he doesn’t have the adrenaline keeping him going. He’s never considered himself particularly rash. Impertinent, yes. Ornery, definitely. 

  


But rash. Frag, stupidity was more accurate a word. 

  


Risking it all for a damned trainee medic. 

  


He was going to regret this.


End file.
